Regency Masquerade (4 page)

Sammy
frowned thoughtfully.  “Lady Murray,” she mused.  “No I do not think I have met
her.  I could ask Sophie if you like, she knows
everyone
!  Do come and
meet her, I am sure you would get on famously!”

Frances
hesitated, the knowledgeable Lady Fairfax sounded like someone she should
definitely avoid, as she would certainly be much more interested in her
background and credentials than the artless Sammy.  She had a sudden
inspiration, why not tell the truth? Or at least part of it.  Her look of
embarrassment was not wholly feigned.

“Another
time perhaps ... you see the trouble is that this gown,” she gestured at it,
“was actually made for Lady Fairfax!  She found it did not suit her but I just
fell in love with it.  However, you do see why I could not meet her while
wearing it!”

Sammy
looked concerned. “No, I do see that.  Well, I shall ask her about your cousin
myself and pass it on to you later.” She smiled conspiratorily and they both
replaced their masks and stepped out into the ballroom.
 Sammy was immediately surrounded by a flock of young men, eagerly begging her
for the next dance.  She smiled happily at all of them, “No thankyou Sir
Thomas, I’ve danced with you already and you too Jack, I mean Mr Lambert.  What
is the next dance by the way? Oh a waltz?  Then I shall be pleased to accept
you Nick, you dance it beautifully.”  She was whisked away by a slender young
man with bright red hair and freckles and Frances found that the man she had
addressed as Jack Lambert was asking her to dance instead. 

“I
don’t think we have been introduced yet, Miss ...?” he paused invitingly.

“Diana”
answered Frances smiling saucily.  She spoke with a slight French accent.  “And
I would love to dance, thank you m’sieur.”

He
looked at her with rather more interest and led her out onto the dance floor. 
Like many of the guests he had not come in costume but merely wore a black mask
over his eyes.  Jack Lambert was a tall well built man with broad shoulders and
the well muscled thighs of an athlete. He was a little older than the other two
men, perhaps nearer to thirty than twenty.  Although he danced superbly, Frances
thought that he would be more at home on horseback or even in a boxing ring. 
He held her firmly but impersonally and Frances enjoyed the sheer speed and
movement of the dance, despite a wayward moment of speculation as to how
Carleton would be to dance with.  They exchanged a few idle commonplaces but
Frances noticed the curiosity in his eyes as he studied her.

“Do
I know you?” he asked.

“No,
you haven’t met me before,” she said boldly.  “In fact I doubt you will meet me
again.  I am just up to London for a short visit.”

“Where
do you come from, Diana?”

“Abroad,”
she replied.

He
raised his eyebrows. “But you know Sammy Fairfax?”

Frances
was silent as they spun neatly around a slower couple in their path, then said
frankly, “No, I met her for the first time tonight.”

“A
woman of mystery indeed!”

She
laughed, enjoying being able to hold his attention.  She had noticed the blonde
Rosamond staring at them from  the sidelines and was pleased he hadn’t glanced
at her.  Lambert watched the mischievous smile on her lips and said suddenly,
“I have an odd feeling that you are not a respectable person Diana.”

“No”
she agreed, “I am an adventuress.  Lord and Lady Dalrymple have never met me
before and I just walked in off the street!”

For
a second he almost believed her, then laughed at her joke.  He recalled then
that Lady Fairfax was a tall woman and also Sammy’s sister-in-law by Jove. 
Perhaps it was her, that mask certainly concealed a lot of her face.  “Forgive
me,” he answered.  “I shall be anxious to see you again after midnight, per
chance I will find I know you after all.”

Frances
just smiled demurely and he considered the possibility of setting up a
flirtation with her, discreetly of course.  The music finished at that point
and rather reluctantly, he released her.  Frances curtseyed and left him to go
in search of a glass of lemonade.  The time had flown and she should start to
think about leaving shortly.  Perhaps she could find Sammy after her drink and
then leave, she mused.  She found the bowl of iced lemonade in the supper room
and was just about to ask a footman to serve her when Lord Carleton spoke
beside her.

“May
I be of assistance?”  Frances started and was glad she did not have a glass in
her hand as she would have dropped it.

“Thank
you, m’sieur”, she replied, emphasising her French accent to disguise her
voice. “Some lemonade please.”  He looked very elegant she thought, in black
ball dress with white lace frothing at his wrists and collar.  He poured the
lemonade for her and then a second glass.  He gave the first to her with a
brief smile then turned away to where Frances could see the blonde Rosamond
seated against the wall.  Not only did he not recognise me thought Frances
ruefully, he scarcely even noticed me.  She left the supper room sipping her
lemonade and went in search of Sammy.

Sammy
however was engaged in a country dance and she realised she would not be able
to approach her about Lady Murray for some time.  Avoiding Jack Lambert, who
appeared to be searching the room for someone, Frances stepped back into the
supper room for a glance at the gilt clock on the sideboard.  Half past eleven,
time to go she decided.  Making her way casually through the crowded ballroom,
she had just stepped into the hallway when Sammy dashed up to her.

“You’re
not leaving already Diana?” she protested.

“Yes,
I must. My companion is waiting, she is not feeling well,” Frances
prevaricated.

“Oh,
I am so sorry ... but I asked Sophie about Lady Murray as I said I would and
she said the only one she knows is an old lady who lives very retired these
days, but her name is Anna not Julia so I don’t know if she is your cousin or
not.”

Frances
untangled the sense of this and queried “An old lady? Do you know how old?”  To
a girl as young as Sammy, forty could appear “old”.

“Yes,
around seventy, Sophie said.”

“Perhaps
she has a daughter?”

Sammy’s
face fell.  “I didn’t think of that ... but wouldn’t she be called Lady Julia
instead of  Lady Murray?”

Frances
nodded as her young friend continued. “I will ask Sophie and let you know next
time we meet.” 

“Thank
you Sammy, I shall call on you one day soon,”   Frances promised, than hurried
out to meet her coach feeling like Cinderella.

John
was waiting with the coach across the road, and she hurried over so as not to
keep the horses standing too long. He opened the door for her, shut it firmly,
then climbed up into the driver’s seat and sent the pair trotting over the cobblestones. 
Inside, she drew the curtains and changed awkwardly out of her gown and into
the boots and breeches.  At the last minute she remembered to pull off her wig
and wipe the powder off her face.  Clutching the cloak about her, she left the
coach a couple of hundred yards from the Pelican and walked the rest of the way
while John trotted past her to return the team to the stables.

Frances
reached her room without attracting undue attention.  Carefully she sponged off
a couple of small stains then packed the gown out of sight at the bottom of her
bag along with the slippers and gloves.  It would never do for a chambermaid to
see them lying about.  “What a night,” she said to herself yawning. “I enjoyed
dancing with Jack Lambert and I liked Sammy.  I do not think much of Rosamond
whatever-her-name is though, a nasty little cat.  Carleton could do much better
for himself surely. I hope he is not
too
taken with her.”

Gentle
snores greeted John when he came in later to check on her, and he left as
silently as he had entered.

Meanwhile,
back at the ball, Jack Lambert searched unsuccessfully for a tall lady in a
green dress.  Eventually he approached Sammy.  “Where is your friend Diana?” he
asked as casually as he could.

She
turned wide blue eyes on him.  “She went home before midnight.  Why?” she asked
saucily.

“None
of your business chit!” he grinned at her.  “I’d like to call on her, can you
give me her address?”

Sammy
frowned suddenly, “No I am afraid I can’t, I’m sorry but she didn’t tell me.”

He
raised an eyebrow.

“It’s
true Jack.  I met her tonight for the first time, and somehow it didn’t come up
in the conversation.”

“You
only met her tonight?” he asked, half incredulous.

She
nodded vigorously. “Yes, she helped me with my gown.  All I know is that her name
is Diana Murray and she is visiting London from the country.”  Lambert was
about to question her further, still half believing “Diana” was Sophie Fairfax
playing a joke, when Lady Fairfax herself came up to Sammy.  She was wearing a
blue gown and he saw immediately that her eyes were brown and not grey and that
her mouth was a different shape.  He bowed hastily and withdrew, his mind
seething with conjecture.

Carleton
was dancing for the second time with Rosamond Lyle and thinking how pretty she
was.  It was a pity she was so shy, she seldom had much to say to him.  Perhaps
he could take her driving one day and he could gain her confidence.  Rosamond
thought about Jack Lambert.

CHAPTER
FIVE

Bright
sunshine woke Frances later than usual the next morning and she suddenly
remembered she had an appointment that afternoon with Lord Carleton at Manton’s
pistol gallery.  She hadn’t been intending to keep the appointment, but now she
reconsidered.  She did not yet know enough about Lady Murray, or her circumstances,
to allow her to make any decisions as to her future.  However, what with Peter
Frances being acquainted with Lord Carleton and Diana Murray becoming fast
friends with Sammy Fairfax and Jack Lambert, her future was looking complicated
to say the least!

She
dressed hastily in her male attire and went down to breakfast.  A quick mental
calculation of her remaining funds persuaded her that she would soon need an
income.  Perhaps she should take up Carleton’s offer to introduce her to his
club and she could try to win a few guineas!  A moments reconsideration warned
her how risky that would be, and she put aside the idea regretfully.

Peter
Francis sauntered out of the Pelican shortly after noon and made ‘his’ way
through the narrow streets towards Manton’s gallery.  She loved walking in
London, looking at the shops and stalls and the wide variety of people all
going about their business, maids scurrying on messages, busy housewives buying
cloth to take home and sew into sturdy waistcoats or pretty dresses, and of
course young men of leisure wandering between entertainments.

Carleton
was already there when she arrived, waiting outside the building.  He smiled to
see her and greeted her almost as an old friend. He led the way, pushing open
the heavy door which allowed the noise of pistols exploding and men shouting to
rush out into the street.  She followed him inside and along a corridor, past a
room filled with unruly men, and into a larger, quieter, gallery obviously
reserved for the upper classes.  On the far side, a young man of about twenty
was practising rather erratically, watched by an attendant with a bored eye,
but otherwise the room was empty.  Playing cards were set up near the far wall
in various patterns as targets and several weapons were displayed in a locked
cabinet near the door for the use of those patrons who had not brought their
own.  Carleton was carrying a box with two duelling pistols in it.  He opened
them up for Peter’s inspection.  “I had them made for me here in London.  What
do you think?  Would you like to try one out?”

Frances
picked up one of the pistols with interest and balanced it in her hand. 
“Nice,” she murmured appreciatively.  She held it at arm’s length, pointing it
down the gallery towards the targets and taking aim.  “Yes, I’d like to try one
of these my Lord.” Carefully she replaced it in the box and looked at him. 
“But we are competing are we not?  In which case I would prefer to use my own. 
I only have one I am afraid but you are very welcome to use it if you would like
to.”  As she spoke, Frances took a smaller silver plated pistol from an inside
coat pocket and handed it to him to inspect.  “It’s Spanish” she explained.

“It
feels very light,” Carleton commented dubiously.

Frances
smiled confidently. “One does not need a cannon to hit the ace of spades my
lord, you’ll see.”  She paused, “Are you a good shot?”

A
little taken aback by her directness, he demurred, “I’m considered a fair shot
I believe.”

“Well
in that case, as our wager is between friends, shall we say five guineas my
Lord?”

Carleton
frowned, a little offended, “You sound as if you expect me to lose!” he
retorted.

Frances
smiled deprecatingly, “Well you see,
I
am considered an
excellent
shot.  I wouldn’t want to take advantage of our friendship!”

He
regarded her a moment through narrowed eyes, then laughed.  “I’ll be damned if
I know what your lay is youngster.  By all means let it be five guineas if you
wish – I’ll take you to dinner on it!  Best of three?”